He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the cold, greatly enjoyed the exercise.  Leonard pointed out to him the spots where the fugitives from the plague had pitched their tents, and also the pest-house near Westbourne Green, where he himself had been received during his second attack of the distemper, and which was now altogether abandoned.

Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal Green, and approached the farmhouse.  Leonard descried Wingfield near one of the barns, and hailing him, he immediately came forward.  On being informed of Mr. Bloundel’s desire, he at once assented, and taking them into the house, mentioned the matter to his dame, who was quite of the same opinion as himself.

“The only difference between us,” he said to Mr. Bloundel, “is as to the payment you propose.  Now I will take none—­not a farthing.  Come when you please, bring whom you please, and stay as long as you please.  But don’t offer me anything if you would not offend me.  Recollect,” he added, the moisture forcing itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voice becoming husky with emotion, “that I loved your daughter for her resemblance to my poor child.  She, too, is gone.  I do this for her sake.”

Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but he made no further objection, resolved in his own mind to find some other means of requiting his hospitality.  It was then agreed that the grocer should bring his family on the following day, and remain there for a month; and every other arrangement being made, and a hearty meal partaken of, he cordially thanked his host, and returned with Leonard to Wood-street.

In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the earl’s warning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind; and though he did not for a moment think of abandoning his purpose, he resolved to attend the meeting armed.  He told Mr. Bloundel he should go out that night, but did not state his object, and the grocer did not inquire it.  Blaize sat up with him, and displayed much anxiety to know whither he was going, but, as may be supposed, his curiosity was not gratified.  As the clock struck eleven, Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and arming himself furthermore with his staff, proceeded towards the door, and bade Blaize lock it after him.

“I shall probably be back in a couple of hours,” he said, as he went forth.  “You must sit up for me.”

“I wonder where he is going!” thought Blaize, “From his gloomy looks, and the weapon he has taken with him, I should judge he is about to murder some one—­perhaps the Earl of Rochester.  It must be prevented.”

With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by curiosity than any better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds to allow the apprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the door outside, put the key in his pocket, and followed him.  The night was profoundly dark, but he had noticed the direction taken by Leonard, and running noiselessly along the street, soon perceived him a little in advance.  Regulating his pace by that of the apprentice, and keeping about fifty yards behind him, he tracked his course along several streets, until he saw him pass through the second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate.